Merging
by Nostala
Summary: A fic written for a challenge, this story is based on the premise that 'all cartoons came to life' where I had to mingle the story with my normal main character. I had a 15 page limit. Him is trying to adjust to his existence in our world. Can humans understand Him? Can humans live alongside any cartoons?


Stepping out, like every day before, pedestrians graced me with stares of horror and disgust, scattering out of my way like scared bunnies. Bitterly, I bet shop keepers were praying I didn't stop into their stores as I passed.

Stubborn as always, I kept my head up. I refuse to change who I am to conform to an obviously inferior humanity.

But the gazes still hurt. My pride is broken, despite how I try to pretend otherwise.

Finally at the hospital I scurry in a side door. Staff decided it caused too much of a scene having me go through the main entrance and check in.

"Him, how are you today?" the study leader greeted me.

"Fine," I replied hollowly. They didn't give a rat's ass how I was doing.

Hoisting myself into the gurney bed, the nurse began attaching the wires to my head.

"Session forty-two oh-nine," a doctor spoke into a microphone.

The study leader smiled down at me as if these sessions were my choice, as if I were a volunteer or a regular patient. I wanted to wipe the smile off his face, wanted to delve into his mind and inflict the same torturous emptiness and humiliation his kind gave to me.

"Patient's brain being monitored as of nine o'clock A.M.," continued the doctor.

Feeling my wrist, the leader jotted something onto my charts. More monitors were hooked to my neck, my wrists, my chest.

Noting those actions as well, the doctor droned on, "Heart rate normal compared to human males in the young adult range."

"Are you ready to begin?" asked the leader.

"Yes," I despondently answered.

'_I'm living like a damned test animal_.'

"Today I'd like you to enter Ms. Mitchel's head. I'd like you to repeat her thoughts to us, okay?" the leader asked, motioning to a nurse behind him.

Nodding, I looked at the average woman. Not attractive in appearance or soul, she didn't grab my attention; it's never easy for me if I'm not intrigued. Focusing on her dim brown eyes I slid from my consciousness to hers.

Guilt. "You're doing WHAT May?!" "It's my job Nos, it's what I get paid to do. I can't afford to quit, but I know it's wrong. Listen, you can't say anything. You'll get us both in a shit load of trouble." "Then why the fuck did you tell me?" "Who else am I going to go to?"

Suddenly the scene unfurled before me. May Mitchel stood with a girl quite opposite of herself in an amazingly ornately decorated room. The girl she confessed to quite caught my attention. Brown hair wild and frizzed, her bangs died bright colors and twisted into thick dreadlocks. Blue eyes, holding a depth and life May's did not, gazed accusingly from under heavy dark makeup.

"Well you got my advice," Nostala yelled spitefully.

"That's not what I was hoping for," May answered, tears welling in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Nostala sighed, approaching the weeping nurse, "I just don't know what to tell you. That's fucked up."

"He's supposed to be evil," May sniffled, Nostala wrapping her in a hug.

"Is he?"

"He doesn't act it. Seems depressed if you ask me."

"Wouldn't you be depressed to be an experiment?"

"Guilt," I declared, sliding back to myself, "over treating us like animals to be prodded."

My rage and bitterness flared back up, and I fought to control myself. If I let my magic do its work, as is my nature, I would grow; I would become a giant, compared to Earthlings, with triple the muscularity and they would seize me and lock me up forever.

Clicking my claws to abate some of my energy, I continued – the leader expected more detail, though I dared not reveal the entire conversation. Angry as I was, I wasn't cruel enough to condemn even the dumbest of Earthlings.

"Recalling your friend, Nostala."

Gasping, Ms. Mitchel took a step back. Eyes wide, May looked extremely uncomfortable.

"Good," the leader pronounced happily, "and now?"

Sighing, I delved back into May's mind. Again the scene unfolded.

"What about the others? How many do they do this to?" Nostala demanded, her arms still draped around May.

"I don't know," the nurse sullenly explained, "I'm only assigned to Him. I know they have some of the X-Men in the basement. Hell, I swear I saw Garfield in one of the rooms they used to see MoJo in."

Shaking her head, Nostala let go of her friend. She looked deeply disturbed and preoccupied.

"Nos," May ventured.

"Hm?"

"Do you…. Do you think they have feelings and stuff?"

"Yeah, May," Nostala replied, brushing a dreadlock from her face. "They were created by us, after all. Cartoons are only exaggerations of human emotion, plus emotional things happen in cartoons all the time. There's love there, there's hate, there's hurt."

"You realize we feel," I laughed sourly, again snapping back to my own mind.

"Ms. Mitchel, is he correct?" the leader asked.

Ms. Mitchel looked desperate to bolt the room. I could feel her fear and nervousness as an after effect of the connection.

"Yes," she responded breathlessly.

It gave me some small pleasure that I could still inspire genuine terror.

"Speaking of emotions," one of the doctors spoke up, "we'd like you to see a counselor Him. Do you think you could do that?"

"We'd like to begin comparing your mind to the human mind, with more than scans," explained the leader, again jotting things onto my chart.

"Sure," I sighed.

"Great," the leader beamed, pulling a card from his pocket. "We have you set up for an appointment in a few days. This could be good for you. I'd suggest you take advantage of it and let your counselor help you adjust to modern times."

Pocketing the business card I nodded. I had absolutely no intention of 'taking advantage' of anything. I'd do what they paid me to do – no more, no less.

"Patient accurately identified volunteer nurse's thoughts," the doctor recited into his machine. "Patient has agreed to therapy to further explore comparison to the human brain."

"Alright Him, let's continue. Can you tell us what's going on in Ms. Mitchel's subconscious?" the leader prodded.

For a third time I delved into May's head. This time I passed the scene haunting her of the discussion with her friend. Passing off lesser thoughts – laundry, pay day, a date later in the week – I came to her innermost contemplations.

A scared child, she watched her mother waste away from disease. Young, with no father or family to help, little May cared for her shriveling parent with diligence. It made no difference, though. I watched as years flew by, the mother wasting to skin and bone to finally perish.

"You became a nurse because you think you let your mother die," I declared. For once I felt sympathy for a human, for the plain woman - the vulnerable Earthling.

"Ms. Mitchel?" the leader asked, wanting confirmation.

She nodded, backing into the wall.

"May I be excused?" she blurted, wringing her hands.

"I think that's good for the day," the leader announced. "We'll resume Thursday for another session."

"Patient accurately identified volunteer nurse's subconscious occurrences. Detaching patient's brain and heart monitors at ten o'clock," the doctor announced into his mic.

Sulking all the way home, I couldn't help thinking about the nurse's recollection. To my knowledge Earthlings never thought of us as equals. They regarded us like robots, threatening a takeover. We could do so much more than them. That was why they jailed us; why cartoons slowly disappeared.

Nostala, though, seemed genuine. Could there be other true sympathizers? Could I, if I stopped moping, find friends? Fingering my tuft of a goatee I unwillingly lingered on the girl.

But it was not her appearance which had grabbed my interest – it was her soul.

My species had that gift, of reading souls. It was how we connected to other creatures, how we read minds. We violated their very souls with our own.

This girl possessed a strong soul, wildly colored with hues glowing frightfully. She had a purpose. She had goodness – a trait which, short of the Powerpuff brats, I'd rarely seen in person. She also, to my surprise, had a strong dark pain reverberating in her which was not unlike my own.

'_I know her name_,' I thought, entering my building distractedly, '_I can find her. I can get in her. I can make her like me, make her want me. I could have her._'

Though the thought aroused me briefly it caused no drive. I no less want someone who doesn't want me than anyone else desires pity sex.

My small hopes dying within me, I plopped onto my bed and stared out my little window.

Now they planned to pick away at my emotions. Earthlings would take me apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left.

Ready to fall into the oblivion of sleep again, a knock interrupted me.

Curiously – no one I could think of would come to see me – I opened the door. A teenage Earthling stood facing me, a notebook in his hand and a dirty bag slung over one shoulder.

"Yes?" I asked in the darkest tone I could manage, glaring the boy down.

"Him?" he asked nervously.

"Yes?"

"Hi…. Um…. I'm Brion from Oddity News and I… Um… I was wondering if I could do an interview with you. Sir."

Staring him down for a moment, I decided the occurrence might distract me from my miseries.

"Come in," I directed, stepping aside.

Entering, the reporter looked like he'd expected my walls to be lined with corpses. Visibly relaxing, seeing my lodgings were far from unique, he sat in an armchair by the bed. Chin up, I sauntered over to sit on the cot.

"What would you like to know?" I asked tauntingly. I expected all his questions to be superfluous. 'Do you plan to attack people?' 'Are you ever going to fight the Powerpuff Girls again?'

"Well, sir," he began, still jittery, "I think most of us would like to know – where do you come from?"

"Don't you know I lived in Townsville?"

"Sir – yes, sir. But… But we wondered where you came from, not where you lived. W.. W.. What are you, sir?"

Blinking, I grinned. No one ever asked me this before.

"I'm a Grim," I answered proudly.

"Like a grim reaper?" the boy asked, visibly alarmed.

Letting out a haughty laugh I shook my head.

"No. Grim's are creatures created from the evil and sadness of others. The negative things of the universe create energy, and that energy amasses until it compacts to birth us," I explained.

"So you're made of evil?"

"Evil, sadness, pain, hate, envy. Anything bad you can think of, it is my parent."

"Do you love evil things, then?"

Pausing, I wasn't sure I should answer honestly. Of course I loved evil things, but only when applied justly. I love to inflict torture upon those deserving, to make bad souls suffer. Earthlings, though, think of evil in a different way. To them, evil is murder and physical torture.

"No," I finally answered, curtly. "Do you, Brion, like everything your parents do?"

"No," he replied, embarrassed, "I guess not. If you're made of evil then where were you born?"

"I was born of the evils of Townsville, so I was born in Townsville silly."

Nodding, the reporter continued, "You tend to dress like a woman. Are you gay?"

"I'm attracted to women creatures," I replied flatly.

"Are you a cross dresser, then? A transsexual? A transvestite?"

"I'm unfamiliar with those words," I answered honestly. "I am me."

"So how do you like the human world?" he pressed, relentless.

"It's abysmal."

"Do you want to destroy it?"

"What good would that do me?"

"Do you want to rule it?"

Now there was an idea, I thought, but one I knew I had no desire for.

"No."

"Why not?" he questioned, genuine surprise on his face, "You were always trying to rule Townsville."

"Certainly not," I spat back, affronted. "We competed. It was a game for us. I have no desire to 'rule' anything."

"Okay," the boy stated as he wrote down my latest answer. "Have you ever been in love? Do Grims love?"

"I have never been in love," I answered, thinking of May's friend to my annoyance, "but Grims love as much as any other creature."

"Is your… erm… anatomy the same as man's?"

Smirking, I wondered why anyone should care about my anatomy.

"Mostly," I cooed.

"Mostly? Can you explain?"

"Yes, most of the time my body is like that of a male's. Although my member can achieve growth unnatural to man," I grinned triumphantly at the boy. That's one thing all men throughout all worlds have in common – penis pride.

Blushing, the reporter continued, "I'm sure the ladies would want me to ask how big it… it grows." He cleared his throat, refusing to meet my eyes.

"As big as they like," I boasted.

"Can Grims impregnate humans?"

"We can impregnate whatever we like."

"But if you're made from evil then how can you procreate? Wouldn't you need evil again?"

"Not quite," I answered. I suddenly realized Earthlings knew nothing about my kind. "We are so very little in existence, it takes so much evil to birth us, that if we wish to procreate we must do it with another creature. However, our offspring are not fellow Grim. Our offspring are Greens – creatures of hope born from our existence from evil things. They tend to look like their non-Grim parent and have few, if any, of our powers."

"So there can be female Grim?"

"Yes," I nodded.

"How many Grim are there? Why are you the only one we know of?"

Sighing, I looked out the window beside us. There, below, people wandered; one of those races so sure of themselves they still maintained the primitive mindset of 'if I don't witness it then it is not real'.

"There are six," I replied.

"Where are they?"

"I am one," I replied, "but the others are not of your world. Grims are born to the spirit realm of wherever their parenting energy comes from." The boy looked confused, so I further explained, "If New York expelled enough negativity the Grim born from it would not live in New York, but in the spirit realm surrounding New York."

"But didn't you say you were born to Townsville?"

"I said I was born of Townsville and lived in Townsville."

"But you just said a Grim born of New York wouldn't live in New York, so why did you live in the place that birthed you?" Brion challenged.

Hurt, I decided to tell the truth. I half hoped finally explaining myself to someone would relieve the despair, half hoped the story would bring me some sympathy and acceptance; but, mostly, I just wanted someone to hear it and know.

"Every Grim is assigned, biologically, to focus primarily on – or feel primarily - one emotion. For one it is anger, for another it is pain, for another it is emptiness. For me, it is sorrow."

Tilting his head, the boy seemed to feel sorry for me.

"All you feel is sorrow?" he asked quietly.

"No," I shook my head with bitterness, "no. I feel sorrow most strongly. Feel the sorrows of myself, the sorrows of others, and the sorrows of the universe."

"So why did that let you live in the place that made you?"

"What makes sorrow into something beautiful?" I challenged him. I dropped the egotistical act I put on for everyone. My posture slouched, I looked into the reporter's eyes as a fellow living being, and begged his soul to understand mine.

Meeting my gaze he paused for a moment. Then, thoughtfully, he ventured, "Love?"

With a sad smile I nodded.

"You lived in Townsville because you wanted to find love?" he asked, his eyes imparting that he began to understand. "But then why did you spend all that time fighting?"

"I had nothing else to do," I shrugged. "Unlike you Earthlings, Grims can see souls – feel them, read them. I'd know if you were my soul mate or not without even needing to see you."

"So your soul mate wasn't in Townsville?" the boy asked, so immersed in my tale that he'd scooted to the edge of his seat.

"No."

"Then why'd you stay there?" He began taking notes again, writing furiously fast.

"My world was a cartoon," I reminded him. "To my knowledge there was nothing but Townsville and the spirit realm of Townsville. I'd thought perhaps some other creature, suitable for me, would come into creation if I hung around long enough. Perhaps the Professor would have made her."

"So you can't read the whole universe, but you just said you feel the whole universe?"

"I said I feel the universe's sorrows; that is different from identifying them – from knowing whence they came, why, or who from."

"Yet you said you'd know your soul mate without needing to see them," he asked with pressing curiosity.

"Once I come into contact with someone who'd been in contact with them, as soon as I can sense the soul, I'd know. That doesn't mean I'd know how to find them, necessarily," I explained, quick to add the last part lest humans begin fearing I'd stalk them.

"So by soul mate, you mean universally destined?" he questioned.

"No," I shot back, surprised Earthlings could be unfamiliar with the meaning of something so profound. "Soul mate means just that, mate for your soul. The perfect match."

Again, unwillingly, I thought of May's lively friend.

"Have you found her?" Brion asked, his head quirked as he watched me.

With the heavy heart of a liar I answered, "No."

Nostala chewed on her pipe, staring up at the clouds as she lay on her back. The world had gotten really Nazi-ish in a very short time span. Perturbed by May's breakdown, she'd been unable to forget some of her friend's confessions.

May told her that the government offered large sums to the 'cartoons' so they'd agree to the studies; studies no one would otherwise agree to. They prodded every inch of the cartoons, she said, from their minds to their bodies. May even admitted patients went missing after a while, and she suspected that officials higher than herself explored the poor 'cartoon's' organs then.

The news channels hinted as much, characters going missing all the time. Usually it was claimed they'd been locked up. More and more, governments all over the world arrested the animations-come-to-life for using powers which 'made them a threat to mankind'. There were never any trials, never any public arrests, and no one ever saw them again.

Lighting her pipe and inhaling deeply Nostala decided something had to be done; some kind of Civil Rights thing. Pulling her phone out of her pocket she dialed Phinny.

After a few rings, the boy answered grumpily, "What?"

"What are you doing?"

"Sleeping. Was," he murmured. "What's up?"

"I talked to May yesterday," she began, "and I think I'm about to get myself into trouble."

Silence on the line. Nostala was sure Phinny was piecing together her thoughts, too familiar with her drive for liberty.

"You're going to try to free the cartoons, aren't you?" he finally asked, and she smirked.

"Yep. Wanna help?"

"No," he replied at first. "Well, maybe. Sure. Why the fuck not. Got a plan?"

Taking another hit off her pipe she sat up.

"Well, no…"

"MMM," he responded, "I'll be over in a bit.

Hanging up, Nostala wondered how far they'd get before they got locked up too.

Before she could consider more May ran through her front grate. The girl looked panicked, her eyes swollen from crying and her hair a complete mess.

"What's wrong?" Nostala asked, quickly stuffing her pipe into her pocket.

"They do kill them!" May shrieked, hurrying to her friend and collapsing into sobs on the grass.

"What?!"

"I heard… the doctors…. And… and they do kill them. They send them to a 'therapist'," she managed through her heaves, "and they… they…"

"Kill them?"

"Yeah, but – they don't even know!"

"You have to calm down," Nostala comforted, rubbing May's back. "I can't understand you."

Taking a few deep breaths, the nurse continued slower, "I was clocking out and I heard the doctors talking. They were laughing about how they don't know it's coming, the cartoons. I guess… their therapist… it's a front for an in-between jail. They ambush them. And they kill them. They're getting Him tomorrow."

Thinking hard, Nostala continued to absently rub May's back. With a stern face she muttered, "You go home. Don't say a thing. Phinny and I'll handle it."

Crouched by the window, I wondered if the fall would be long enough to kill me.

A piercing ring interrupting my musings, I glanced sourly at the phone.

"Hello?" I answered, completely uninterested.

"Him?"

Surprised, I looked at the phone as if it were diseased.

"Blossom?"

"Yeah, I know. We didn't want to call you either. But this isn't right, the way they're treating us," she explained with her usual cheery passion.

"We went to see MoJo and… and he was gone!" Bubbles chimed in, her words touched by her saddened sensitivity.

"What do you want from me?" I inquired, perplexed.

"We're going to start a Civil Rights movement for cartoons," Blossom continued, "and we were hoping you'd…. you know… join us."

I could tell it took effort for them to ask. Pondering the idea I quickly perceived I'd be a bad asset.

"I don't think so girls," I said sadly. "I wouldn't help. They think I'm a demon here. Having me on your side would only bring you more troubles."

Silence from their end. I knew they realized I was right.

"Oooh," Bubbles moaned softly in the background.

"Well, good luck Him," Blossom declared, "see you around."

Hanging up, I really did wish them the best of luck. They'd probably be arrested for it.

Their information of MoJo didn't surprise me either. I'd probably go soon, too.

Again the window beckoned to me.

It could be quick.

I could jump, or I could spend what life Earthlings allowed me alone, wasting away in here. The choice seemed obvious, but I didn't move from the bed.

Since when had I turned coward?

Standing, I pried the glass panes open. A tiny ledge poked out into the Earthling world. Slowly, I poked one heeled foot out the window. Just enough room for my shoes to balance.

Grabbing the window sides, I heaved myself up and stood precariously on the ledge. Real Earth's breeze caressed me, like it was comforting me – telling me it would guide me down.

The antlike people marched along their way, oblivious to my form above.

Would they celebrate if I died, I wondered? They did when Hellboy, the only creature somewhat like myself, let a train rip him to shreds.

Frowning, I let go of the stone walls. Vertigo and adrenaline took over, my heart racing as I stared down.

'_What are you waiting for?_' I asked myself. '_This world is nothing but pain and hate. There's no place for me. I am a creature of dignity, a creature of power. I cannot live such a humiliating and base life._'

'_But then you'll never find her_,' my subconscious whispered.

Spontaneously my soul found a new drive. I wouldn't jump. I wouldn't let Earthlings squash my fabulousness. I was going to fight; I was ready to.

Glaring, I gripped the sides of my building again and stepped back onto my bed.

What more could humans do to me anyway?

Biting my lip, my gut a spiraling wreckage, I picked up the phone. Clicking on the caller ID, I dialed the last number.

"Hello?" Blossom asked, mixed up.

"I changed my mind," I declared, "I'll do it."

"You're sure? What about what you said?"

"I don't care anymore," I said seriously. "They're going to take me sooner or later. I'd rather do something important before they do."

"Wow Him, I didn't expect that from you," Buttercup burst in.

In the background Bubbles gave an, "Aw."

"So what do you have planned?" I inquired, beginning to feel alive again.

"Well," Buttercup began, "we found an Earthling trying to do the same thing, fight for our rights. She's going to join us tomorrow morning."

My appointment with the Earthling therapist was tomorrow morning, but what better way to take up a cause then to blow off human expectations?

"Where?" I asked.

"She rented a coffee house for us," Blossom clarified, "and we're supposed to meet there at ten in the morning."

"Who else is coming?"

"Fuzzy, Sedusa, the turtles, Doug and some of his friends, the entire Simpsons family-"

"Don't forget the ponies!" Bubbles interrupted.

"The ponies," Blossom repeated, aggravated, "and a whole bunch of others."

"Then I'll see you then," I cooed, excited.

"Bye!" the girls chimed, and we hung up.

I had purpose again, and I let out a laugh that sounded as it should. No more flatness from me; no more moping or holding back.

Laughing louder, I finally sounded like the villain I was meant to be.

Stuffed beyond capacity, cartoons lining the streets outside, I stood at the counter and watched them flock in. The turnout alone promised some kind of success.

Everyone had their own special concerns – missing family and friends, certain rights they wanted for themselves – and conversations began to crop up before we even began.

Some humans lingered, looking uncomfortable and curious as they hung together in the corners.

Sipping my cappuccino I relaxed. For the first time since the merging no one looked at me like a plague. Fellow cartoons moved around me without a second thought, even bumping into me.

As the crowd parted to let more into the line for ordering I nearly spat out my drink. There, just as she'd been in the memory, was May's friend.

At first she didn't notice me, distracted by her thoughts. She stared into space, her mouth set in a stubborn frown. Soon, though, she began to glance around and her eyes fell my way. Mouth dropping into an 'o' I wasn't sure if she felt fear or not, and butterflies took over my gut.

I could've read her, but I didn't want to. Love is not meant to be violated.

"Next," the barista called, shooting her a dirty look.

Slowly stepping forward, she glanced sidelong at me as she ordered.

'_Should I say something?_' I wondered.

Grabbing her drink from the server she turned abruptly to me.

"Him?"

Smiling, I nodded.

"Can I help you?" I cooed, determined to hold some type of charm.

"Wow," she replied hesitantly, stepping out of line and directly in front of me, "this isn't how I expected you to look."

"Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"

"Good, I guess," she grinned, and I felt a tad less nervous. "Are you here with anyone?"

Surprised at the question I shook my head.

"Want to come join my friend and I?"

"Why not," I answered. After all, today was the day I was supposed to break behaviors of fear.

Motioning for me to follow she led me through the crowd. Sitting beside a punk-looking boy she signaled for me to take the third chair of the cluster, and I timidly settled and crossed my legs.

Her friend seemed less at ease, widening his eyes as he beheld me.

"Nostala," he growled, as if I couldn't hear.

"Oh, shut up," she shot back, smiling deliberately at me, "you of all people should love Him."

Rolling his eyes, her friend leaned back and crossed his arms.

"I'm not THAT gay," he grumbled.

"I'm Nostala," she introduced, leaning forward and holding her hand out, "and this is my friend, Phinny. Don't mind him."

Not wanting to hurt her, I held her hand loosely with my claw. The feel of human flesh between them felt strangely warm. I wished I could risk changing them to hands.

"Can I touch it?" she asked, looking curiously at my pincer.

"Sure," I replied, my insides again churning with uneasy apprehension.

Keeping her one hand in my grasp she raised the other and gingerly traced one finger down my digit. Her friend cracked his eyes open, watching us intently and defensively.

"It's smoother than a crab claw," she shrugged, pulling her hands away. "So um… I hear you've been tested on."

Now Phinny's eyes shot open, and the boy leaned forward to listen.

"Was," I said. "I'm not going back."

Seeming relieved, Nostala quickly added, "So you're not going to the therapist today?"

"Excuse me?" _How had she known?_

"Um…" she stammered, looking away from me, "I um…"

"What are you two talking about?" Phinny interjected, looking between the two of us.

Sighing, she looked me dead in the eyes with a seriousness that emanated from her core.

"May told me. Don't go. Don't ever go back."

Shocked, I was speechless.

"And don't tell anyone I told you," she added.

"May told you what?" he friend inquired, confused.

"Later," she hissed at him, then looked back to me. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"Excuse me!" Blossom's voice boomed from the store's speakers and the hubbub of conversation quieted. "Thank you everyone for coming. We're assembled here today because Real Earth has chosen to treat us all like criminals."

A big cheer arose from the crowd.

"We're denied the liberties of humanity! Denied the right to work, the right to privacy! We're locked up like animals and tested on like products!"

Again the crowd went wild. Turning my head, I could see Blossom standing on top of the counter.

"How many of us can go missing before we're all gone? Why should we live as average men when we can help and elate man?"

Our first summit went well. Everyone loved Blossom's speech, as well as the others who'd stood and made moving remarks. It was decided no one involved in the movement would consent to any more testing. We wouldn't be experiments any longer. The congregation also agreed we should unabashedly use our powers; no more hiding. We'd meet next week to write up a Bill of Rights for cartoons, and with enough signatures we thought we could win.

Yet I was more euphoric about Nostala.

Walking out at my side, she and her friend had begun to converse with me as easily as if I were another human.

"I'm going home, man," Phinny yawned. "That was enough weirdness for one day. No offense," he directed at me.

"None taken," I sang.

"Call me tomorrow," Nostala said, waving as the boy took his leave. "Want to walk home together?"

Abashed, I tried to sound at ease as I consented.

"I bet you hate it here," she mused as we walked.

"It's not Townsville," I said, my face reflecting the disgust I felt at this world.

"I don't blame you. We don't like it either," she replied with a bitter laugh.

"I saw you talking to Blossom," I said, changing the subject. "You know them?"

"Not really. I ran into them last night. We got to talking and turned out we were both trying to do the same thing. With the rights thing, you know."

"Why do you care?"

She paused, thinking. "Because you guys feel. You deserve a life worth living."

Touched, I felt my mouth twitch into a smile.

"You're a beautiful rarity," I declared, blushing as I realized my slip.

Raising a brow she smiled and laughed.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked, seeming embarrassed.

"You can ask me anything," I purred. It was just my nature to flirt, hard as I tried to suppress it.

"What's your real name?"

"What do you mean? Him."

"Yeah, but the cartoon always said 'so sinister, so evil he can't be named', blah, blah, blah."

Laughing, I waved the notion away with my hand.

"It's because they can't say it," I explained. "My name is the name for sorrow, but in spirit language. Mortal things cannot say my name."

Nodding, she grinned in return.

"The cartoon always indirectly hinted you were the Devil or something."

Frowning, I shook my head. The stereotype that would not go away.

Nostala paused, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. As she pulled one out, holding it to her lips to light, I found myself overlooking a human female body for the first time in my existence. Curvy and full figured, my eyes traced the graceful arches of her body hungrily. Again the realization that I could make her mine taunted me.

'_You could at least enter her mind and see if she likes you_,' my conscience teased.

My mouth went dry, my skin grew unusually clammy, my gaze locked on her form.

Taking a puff she hurried to my side, continuing on.

"I'm surprised no one's grilled you on where you're from," she declared.

"Not exactly. I had an interview the other day. It went well, though. For once someone wanted to know about me, and not just the bad things."

Looking sympathetic she asked, "What was it in? Or for?"

"Oddity news. I have one at my place if you want to see it," I added as my heart raced.

"Sure," she replied amiably, "I don't have any other plans for today."

Their third night together and they again lay face to face on the bed exchanging stories. Nostala was sure, at this point, he was flirting with her. He smiled in a teasing, playful way, keeping himself just a slight distance from her whenever they were together. He'd go out of his way holding doors and doing ridiculous things to make her laugh.

She wasn't sure how she felt about it.

Sure he was a cartoon, technically speaking, but he wasn't unattractive. He was fun, and he'd said in his interview he wanted love – which meant he could feel.

Looking into his eyes, she resolved to break the barrier.

Taking a deep breath, she averted her eyes and spat out, "Do you like me?"

Falling silent, he looked dazed. For a moment his lips moved, no words coming out.

"Do you like me?" he asked timidly.

Nostala couldn't help but to smile.

"Yeah."

His eyes moistening, Him moved closer. Their bodies touched as he raised a claw gently to her cheek.

"My little human," he whispered, "I wanted to say something. Could you love me?"

For a moment 'love' threw her off, such a strong word so fast, but she quickly remembered his interview again. 'He'd know his soul mate without needing to see them.'

"Do you love me?" she asked, moved that someone could love without the factor of physical appearance.

Lowering his eyes, Him muttered, "Quite."

Smiling, she flushed.

"I… I know that's fast for humans," he stuttered, "but if you… if you change your mind…"

"Wait," Nostala interrupted, "I thought you could read people's minds and make them do stuff and shit."

Eyes widening, a look of sorrow etched on his face, Him began to protest.

Again cutting him off, she continued, "Why didn't you just read my mind to see if I liked you? Or make me like you?"

Pausing, he slowly answered, "I would not violate love. That would be wrong."

Resting her hand on his face, Nostala stroked his silky skin so red under her own pale flesh. His eyes fluttered shut, his eyebrows still arched in a sad expression.

"Well I wouldn't say love yet," she whispered, "but I really do like you."

Relaxing, he opened his eyes and smiled warmly at her.

Feeling movement on her cheek Nostala quickly shifted her hand from his face to her own. Shocked, rather than his hard shell, she felt a hand like her own.

"I have more powers then I let on," he chimed softly.

"You can..."

"I can change my appearance. To whatever I wish." Pressing his body against her, he lifted his head and whispered, "I can change more than hands too."

Wrapping her fingers in his, she lifted her head and kissed his charcoal lips.

A week later we held our second meeting. This time we'd picked a park to accommodate our growing number of members.

Nostala came with me, officially my girlfriend and the individual designated to write up the Bill. She sat upon my lap, arms around my neck, as we watched everyone arrive.

The past week had been the happiest of my life with her. We got along so well she'd practically moved in with me, spending most of her days and nearly every night by my side. When the doctors called, harassing me for not showing to their experiments, Nostala told them off. Being with her killed my sorrow.

Between her and the cause I felt purposeful again.

Blossom flew into the air where everyone could see her.

"Are we ready to gain rights?" she shouted, and the crowd went wild. "Alright people, we're going to hold votes on each of several pieces that cartoons submitted to go into our law. The tables lined up by the swing set each have one section. Please form a single file line and vote on each one."

Rising, cartoons flocked to the stands. Nostala and I filed in line.

Turning to me and twitching her head, she quietly whispered, "You see that?"

Looking to where she signaled I noticed armored police vehicles pulling in around the main entrance. Glancing about I could see their intention to surround us, black trucks silently crawling to stops all about the parks' perimeter.

Concerned, I nodded to her that I did. Nostala's face wore the same worry, and I moved closer behind her for both our comfort.

Casting our votes, I returned to my seat while my little human headed to a special table set up for her to write the legislature.

Blinking, I wiped tears from my eyes. I was so proud of her, so honored to be hers.

Lifting a pen, she began writing.

Suddenly a 'POP' echoed.

Blood spread across Nostala's chest before anyone processed the cause of the noise.

Her hand flew to her bosom, a look of shock on her face as it rapidly paled.

Running to her through the chaos of the panicking crowd, I grabbed her in my arms as she collapsed. Her lids were half shut, her breathing strained.

In alarm and terror, running and screaming, everyone fled as more shots sounded off. Somewhere a bomb reverberated.

The Powerpuff girls were by my side, shouting things at me simultaneously.

"You have to leave her, Him! They're going to get you too if you stay!"

"No ambulance is coming here."

"I'm so sorry, but you have to go."

"We can come back for her later!"

I wasn't going. I wasn't losing her.

Blood began to drip from the corner of her mouth. The vision of her morphed in my tears as I buried my face in her chest.

They came to kill us all, I realized. No movement, no rights, and the studies could continue.

"Don't leave," I whispered into her neck, voice trembling.

Her breathing choked, then stopped. Her eyes were still.

My sorrow escaped in an unearthly wail, miserable enough to create its own Grim.

She was only dead because she came with me.

With no more reserve I laid down my little human and began to grow. Wrath pulsing throughout my body, my muscles bulged and my bones stretched.

Taller than the highest human towers, I grinned sadistically at the little officials surrounding us. Shots slammed into my skin. It made no difference, not in this form.

Screaming with rage, I stomped on the trucks one by one. With a flick of my massive fingers a sniper flew into the cement road where he squished – ironically – like a cartoon. One by one I destroyed them, even as more came.

Army vehicles began to flock in, helicopters swarming above. But I got them too, all in turn.

Some other cartoons had stayed to fight, some with powers like me who helped and some normal creatures who perished quickly.

Blindly I killed, nothing but anger and sorrow in me. Lasers flew from my eyes and claws, directed toward anything human which moved.

I didn't care anymore. They'd do this to us until we were dead unless we stopped them now. My little human hadn't even been one of us, she was only dead for helping us.

Bodies were everywhere. They were in trees, on the road, sticking out of cars and from under them. The park's grass was red.

The fight took the entire day and led on until night. It wasn't until a flock of humans, come to protest the misdeeds done to cartoons, amassed around the battle that officials stopped sending more fighters in.

Retiring from the battle as it ebbed, my revenge slaked, I returned to the corpse of my little human – shrinking as I went. Kneeling beside her, I stroked her forehead and let my tears free.

"I'd give anything to be with you," I sobbed.

But that was not a choice.

Placing both hands upon her face I leaned down and kissed her chilly lips. With a lurch her mouth fell open, sucking in air desperately. Letting her go I smiled, watching her eyes widen and the soul flow back into them. Hand flying to where she'd been wounded she sat, shock and confusion contorting her features. She looked up to me.

"Did you… Did I die?"

Grinning sadly, I gave a quick nod.

"I love you so much," I said, and as I expected an officer jumped on me from behind.

"What are you doing?" Nostala shrieked.

More officers circled me, the one on me wrestling my arms back to cuff.

"That's unholy!" someone in the crowd of humans shrieked. Calls of 'Satan', 'demon', and 'evil' soon followed.

Nostala fought violently, struggling against the officers arresting her.

_They'll let her go, though; she's human_.

Looking at her for as long as I could see her, as they led me away, I tried to memorize every detail, to remember every second. I hoped my gaze imparted some kind of peace to her. I hoped she'd understand.

It was my life or hers. I'd made my choice. I didn't regret it.

Her earsplitting cries of protest and agony were clear to me even as they stuffed me into one of their black trucks. If my heart had broken over having to leave her, the pain in her shouts shattered what was left.

In the darkness of the vehicle I made out MoJo's helmet on one side seat. Stoic, I knew I'd never leave.

When she'd gotten out she searched desperately for Him, putting pressure on all the secret jails, to no avail. Even May, prompted by Nostala's sorrowful pleas, couldn't find anything out.

She knew, as everyone else did, he was dead. She just couldn't admit it.

How could humans kill their own creations? Be that afraid of them?

He may have been red, he may have been strange, he may have dressed and sounded unusual, but he was the only being she'd ever met who seemed to love her for her. He had looked into her soul. He had seen the worst of her and cherished it.

After the battle the cartoons had gotten their Bill written and passed. In honor of the occasion they'd made a national holiday – Him Memorial Day.

Resigned, Nostala wept for her brief partner over the newly marked calendar.

By saving him, she'd bought him just enough time to die for a cause.


End file.
